


the minstrel and the spirit

by catbug



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Love Confessions, Spoilers, Trespasser DLC, more human/less spirit cole, shameless fluff, vaguely aroace cole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 22:06:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4762751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catbug/pseuds/catbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The minstrel runs her string-scratched fingers over his palms so sweetly it warms his chest, and this time he doesn’t have to resist the urge to kiss her wrist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the minstrel and the spirit

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this at like 5am after finishing the DLC so forgive me for any mistakes or it being odd or anything like that!!!

He stands in the corner, hat tipped low enough that he only has to focus on her. The ministrel’s voice is sweet like stolen kisses as it rings through the tavern, soothing pains he himself can’t pick without tearing. 

Cole can’t help but begin to lurk, circling her quietly as she sings. A raven, crow, or perhaps a nightingale- a sweet face and harsh voice, but a lovely song. With no more sound than a breath, he stands at her side, but perhaps a step behind her. Maryden casts a pleased glance his way, but doesn’t pause her song. 

As he watches her hands skillfully strum the instrument- what is its name?- he recalls her soft palms on his cheeks, fingertips scratched by strings and he resists the urge to reach for her hands and kiss her wrists. A new song begins, a smile across the room is offered in exchange- their favorite, probably. 

It takes no time for Cole to notice how sweet she smells, standing so close. (he almost feels embarrassed) He’s grown so fond of resting his head on her shoulder as she scribbles new songs, taking in the sweet scent of her. Maryden is a sweet comfort the spirit of compassion doubts he could find anywhere else. (If he rested his head on her shoulder now, though, people were bound to notice.)

Her song ends, and the room seems too dull and empty without her voice filling it. She sets down her instrument (he wants to call it a lute but doesn’t want to be wrong) before offering her hand to his. “I need to rest a moment- would you accompany me outside for some air?” Cole accepts the offer and her hands are gentle- soft and caring as she leads him outside the tavern. 

The night is cold and while it’s only a dull chill to him, he doesn’t like it. (Maryden leans in close as they sit, though, and there is a small pleasure in that.) The minstrel runs her string-scratched fingers over his palms so sweetly it warms his chest, and this time he doesn’t have to resist the urge to kiss her wrist. 

Her pulse is too warm under his cold lips and he worries she might not like it, but Maryden just turns over his palm upwards and returns the gesture. Cole almost feels more human when he smiles.

“The man at the bar,” he begins. “ _She won’t meet my gaze as I cover my wounded cheek. It burns and throbs- I know that she didn’t mean to, but it’s happened too often to ignore._ Your songs made him forget, if only for a little while. He smiled when you played ‘Rise’.”

The songstress smiles so widely, he’s tempted to steal a kiss. “And you?” her voice is always gentle. “I’m sure you would not let him be.” 

“I told him that the waitress can understand how he feels- he would be happier with her.” Maryden’s smile remains as she leans her head onto his shoulder. “I hope they are gentle with each other, then.” she replies, and Cole feels nothing but relief that they don’t share the man’s pain. 

“I would never hurt you, Maryden. Not like the man’s lover- _Her lips feel like ice as they kiss the bruise, trying to apologize but too prideful to say it._ ” he paused, trying not to grimace. “If anyone tried to hurt you, I would cut them down.” Her response is a small chuckle. 

“I know. But I certainly don’t love you for your ability to hurt others.” she spoke those words so casually, and yet all the breath left his chest. 

Cole looked at her, trying to read her smiling face. “You- love me?” He could feel the warmth welling up in her chest- the love. Her smile reminded him of young girls receiving flowers for the first time. “Of course I do, dear Cole. Was I meant to compose a ballad as confession?” 

He can’t help but laugh, or maybe it was a sigh. Either way, he smiled at her, Maryden’s small hands fitting comfortably within his own. “Well, I-” his voice ended too high, he cleared his throat to fix it. “I love you too.” His cheeks felt warm- as they do so often around her. (She’s been smiling so much, her cheeks are starting to hurt.)

She chuckled once more before leaning in to steal a kiss. (Would it be stealing if he gave it so willingly?) Her lips were warm and gentle on his, just like everything else about her. When they parted, Cole pressed another kiss to her forehead, for good measure. She sighed a small shiver from the cold air. “Alright, my dear. It’s time for me to return. Are you prepared to wait another few hours while I perform?” 

His smile feels a little too shy for his liking, but it doesn’t matter. “I would wait for years, if it was for you.” he almost whispers. This time, Maryden giggles like a child and covers her blush with one hand- and even if Cole didn’t feel all the love sitting in her chest, there was already quite a bit of it in his own.


End file.
